


Immiscible Feelings

by CookieCatSU



Series: You and Me - It's Meant to Be [1]
Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Math and Science Metaphors, Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli-centric, Maura POV, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Yearning, lots of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: Love is truly a sickness, and Maura has caught it, hook, line and sinker.
Relationships: Maura Isles/Jane Rizzoli
Series: You and Me - It's Meant to Be [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055048
Comments: 9
Kudos: 85





	Immiscible Feelings

Maura and Jane should hate each other. They really should, Maura's determined. They are oil and water. Hexane and methanol. Absolutely, diametrically opposed.

Yet, they click like puzzle pieces. They are two halves of the same whole, unable to exist apart.

Maura finds that absolutely fascinating.

* * *

The moment Maura falls in love with Jane, really falls for her, is no mystery. It does sneak up on her, crawling and silent, and then sudden and bursting, but she knows when it comes.

Maura leans closer to the wall, hand cupped around both phone and mouth. "How are you doing?"

Jane's low voice comes rumbling through the receiver, latticed with static, followed by a tired huff, "Considering where I am? Not too god-awful bad. My cellmate does have a concerning preoccupation with death"

Concern for Jane floods through Maura. Her fingers loop and tangle into the phone cord, and all she can think about is if someone hurts Jane…. Undercover work is dangerous, Maura's well aware of that, but the thought of Jane hurt, stings, and she finds herself swallowing thickly.

"If you _need_ to get out of there, don't hesitate to-"

"Call? I know, Maur" There's a crash on Jane's end of the line, and when Jane utters into the receiver again her voice is far away, "Someone's feeling cranky-" the line cuts out completely, and Maura is left staring at the station's pay phone, lips pursed into a thin line, her whole body strumming with dissatisfaction.

Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides. When she unfurls her fingers there are red marks where her fingernails dug into the skin. Maura is so worried, and determined that Jane _better come back to her in one piece,_ or…. She doesn't know what she'll do.

When Jane returns from her undercover stint, with a fat, busted lip and a purpling left cheek, Maura comes to the stark realization that she would _kill_ for Jane. Maura would hide a murder, for Jane.

It’s when she’s reaching to disinfect her cut, and Jane pushes her hand away with an annoyed huff and a laugh, that Maura realized she’d do anything for this stubborn, stubborn woman.

She'd sell every shoe in her closet, and hawk every dress- even move out to sea in a burlap sack, if it meant she got to hear that laugh every day.

Maura cares for her that much.

“I’m fine, Maura”

Maura levels a stern stare her way, but soon softens, “We don’t want it to get infected, do we?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “I can do it myself”

“I know”

 _But you don't need to,_ she thinks to say, but doesn't.

* * *

Maura's life is governed by if, then statements. Givens and reactions. Cause and effect.

If, Rizzoli is in a bad mood, Then, bring coffee. If, they both work late, Then, split the paperwork. If, a piece of debris is found in an exit wound, Then, extract and contain it for processing.

Simple.

It is simple, and logical, and comforting because it is so structured. Maura and Jane's friendship is much the same way; Maura too finds comfort in it, because it is predictable, and it is sturdy and everlasting and never changing.

(Maura has let herself become too comfortable, too close, and now she has no idea what to do).

Emotions have just always been so needlessly complex. A natural part of life, of course, so integral to what makes life worthwhile, which only highlights the pure irony that it should be one of the few aspects in her life Maura has never been able to fully grasp by the horns. Emotions happen to be so frivolous, so illogical. Emotions make no sense, quite frankly.

The science behind the responses are easy to grasp. 

It's the feelings themselves that are so boggling. And the issue generally isn't her own emotions (she knows what she is feeling, whether it's disgust or skin-bursting elation). It's everyone else's… and maybe her own, on occasion, when something pops up that just boggles the mind.

She knows she's in love. It only takes a month to identify the signs. At least, she thinks she's in love. She knows for a fact she's physically attracted to her best friend. There's no questioning that.

But there are questions.

She starts to wonder just what it means, to be attracted to Jane. What does it mean to be in love? What defines what makes love, love? What does one usually refer to, when they use the term? What aspect was most important? 

Was it the outward, physical signs of attraction? Was it the internal changes, such as that sweeping feeling of dizziness, or the way she becomes light headed when she looks at her? 

The attachment? 

And how does one describe, pinpoint, identify, a feeling such as that, so whimsical and totally opposed to being understood?

Maura considers that long and hard, late one afternoon, alone with her latest dead body, and finds that she has no answer that is adequate.

This quandary would clearly require further thought.

* * *

Buster Thomas is 6 years old. He is little over 60 pounds, and small enough that Maura could easily lift him in her arms without breaking much of a sweat. Buster Thomas is also dead, and is currently laid out on her examination table with a crescent shaped wound in his skull.

He's so tiny. Stiff. Silent. Maura takes her time stitching up his open chest cavity, taking particular care looping the needle through and through, as if she may hurt him if she is not perfectly measured in each movement. Once she's finished, she cuts the thread (suture, the medical term is suture) with a crisp snip, dropping the used needle in a beaker of disinfectant.

Peaceful. He looks peaceful, now. Peaceful, but waiting, waiting for that closure only they could bring him. She brushes his hair out of his face, with a faint sigh and a gentle hand (because they _would_ bring him peace), and then turns to mind the organs she'd extracted.

She starts with the heart.

She's elbow deep in blood, and half way through determining that the cause of death absolutely had nothing to do with renal failure, when Jane lets herself in.

Jane pauses in the morgue's doorway, expression hesitant. "I see you're still doing your thing- should I come back later? You know, when you aren't juggling kidneys?"

"There's no need. I'm just checking our victim's kidneys for any abnormalities, such as polyps or tumors. Everything seems normal thus far, except... I do see a bit of bruising on the anterior side"

"That might have something to do with the ten foot fall he took"

Maura nods in agreement. "That would be consistent with the slight bruising I saw on the intestines and lungs, not to mention the intercostal muscles, and- oh no, Jane, we aren't doing this"

"Doing what?"

"You aren't going to get me to speculate. Is that why you're in here? To extricate _guesses_ out of me?" Maura makes certain to sound absolutely appalled.

"Maur, I'm pretty sure we both know the blow to the skull's what killed him"

"We don't _know_ that, since I haven't actually examined his skull yet" Maura drops the kidney back in the basin, with a particularly loud sounding plop. "-And if you're going to insist on distracting me while I work, I'll have to ask you to leave until the autopsy is complete" Maura gives a quick, jerking nod to punctuate her statement.

Jane must pick up on the fact that she's only jesting, because she's totally unperturbed, instead stepping further into the morgue at the comment, heeled boots clacking on the tile in her wake. She stops beside Maura at the sink, hands alighting atop the red coated rim. Then she bumps her with her hip. 

Maura jumps a little, intestines jostling in her gloved hands. A laugh bubbles out of her, spurned on even further by Jane's own laughter.

"I'm distracting you, huh?" Jane asks, voice knowingly impish.

Yes, she is. Most certainly in more ways than one; and absolutely more than she realizes.

"You'll want to get out of the way, _Detective._ I am handling entrails" Maura states.

Jane jumps out of the way with exaggerated haste, muttering a quick, oh no, not the entrails! Maura does her best not to smirk, ever so faintly, as she sweeps past her friend, moving to deposit Buster's small intestines with his other organs.

Jane has looped around behind her, at this point, and is glancing down at the dead body on the examination table. The white sheet is pulled up to his chin, for decency's sake, so only his face is visible. Maura's brows furrow, because Jane's expression is particularly _conflicted_ as she stares at him. _Confounded_ . No, no, the right word is _disturbed_.

She is so unbelievably disturbed.

"It isn't right" Jane says, with an agitated huff. Maura wonders if it's the smell of decomposition that's bothering her. Except, she doesn't look nauseous, and Jane had always had a strong stomach.

Maura can see the peeking edge of something, vulnerable and soft, staring back at her. She tries to grasp at the edges, to glimpse at what's behind the veil.

"What isn't right?"

"I mean, dead kids… It isn't natural" Jane wipes at a tear, indeed, totally unbothered by the smell of deco. and the stench of formaldehyde.

And Maura is suddenly privy to another piece of the puzzle that is Jane.

And she falls for her just a little more. (It doesn't matter that she's already drowning with it. Jane has Maura's heart in her hands, in those few, short moments, and forevermore).

* * *

Her discussion with Korsak is anything but enlightening.

He offers a half shrug, blows on his morning coffee, and offhandedly provides his two cents, "You act like a couple, you fight like a couple. Might as well _be a couple,_ if you ask me" another shrug, "That's all I ever had with the missus, anyway"

He glances at her- glances through her. The ease in which he says it, as if it is fact, is what bothers Maura the worst.

Maura smiles politely, throat on fire, and excuses herself. She abandons her tea on the counter in her haste to escape, and ignores Angela when she calls to try to get her to turn back.

Frost is little better.

He gazes at her from over the pencil he twirls between thumb and forefinger, seated behind his desk. Maura stands staring at Frost's and Jane's conjoined workspace. She's waiting, impatiently, for Jane to return so they can discuss the completed autopsy results. The woman said she had a few theories that might lead to a break in their current case, just before she left.

That was hours ago, however. Maura was getting antsy, because she still had a dead little boy laid out on her examination table, and she was itching to discuss her findings with someone. She considers just telling Frost. She had utmost confidence in his ability to accurately relay the information, though the Doctor did mourn the chance to converse with Jane again.

Before she can speak, Frost pushes away from his desk, shoe soles clacking against the floor, and spins in his chair to face her, with a smile.

"Soooo, is it okay if I ask you something?"

It occurs to Maura that she's been standing, staring, for quite awhile. That must have been awkward. She gives an abashed smile.

"Of course, Detective Frost" She smiles again, "I'm always happy to answer any questions you may have"

His head ducks a little to the left, "This is a non-work related question"

He offers another, hesitant smile, and Maura lights up with understanding.

It's a personal question then. She appreciates his attempts to remain professional (though she knows Jane wouldn't have been afforded the same courtesy, and she wonders what exactly the difference is, between her and Maura. Does she make him uncomfortable, perhaps? Is that why he is hesitant to engage in that same, friendly teasing?).

She pushes aside that line of thought for later.

She adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder. "Oh, well, I am open to that manner of inquiry as well. What would you like to ask?"

He breathes a sigh of relief. Then he brushes a hand over his face, and must stifle a laugh, "Yeah, yeah. I've just been wondering- are you and Jane, uh, you two are a thing, right?"

What?

Maura can feel her cheeks getting hot. She expects herself to be annoyed by the assumption, as well as the unwelcome imposition on her personal affairs. Instead, she is simply nervous, and her thoughts are becoming a bit scattered, because _are they?,_ and _what would that look like?,_ and _she wants them to be._

"Doctor Isles? Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Maura blinks, before shaking her head.

"No, Frost. We're very close, but no, we are not dating"

That is what he was suggesting, wasn't it?

His brow furrows, and he opens his mouth as if to ask something else. Then he thinks better of it, snaps his mouth shut, and offers another smile.

"Oh," He pauses, absorbing. Finally, "Sorry. Guess I made a bad assumption"

She shrugs flippantly. "It's okay. People come to that conclusion all the time"

"What?-"

He looks like he's about to burst with the latest question on his lips, but then the station's glass doors come crashing open, and Jane Rizzoli, the whirlwind that she is, comes crashing through.

She hugs Maura, as soon as she sees her, expressing surprise about why she isn't, 'trolling down in the basement'. Maura laughs, light in a way that only came along when Jane was involved, and slaps her lightly on the arm.

Barry watches them, with raised brows, and if they're earlier conversation didn't give Maura a lot to think about, his apparent look of _confusion_ absolutely did.

* * *

They end up working late into the night. Jane sneaks into the morgue, half past ten, arms laden with files that may or may not be stolen. Jane cracks open the first manilla folder, and starts to pour over it.

Maura joins her, taking a couple files for herself to examine. She's still decked out in her scrubs, having been too busy to find time to change out of them.

"This file is on one Sam Jones" Maura says aloud, once she finally finds something promising, "He's the victim's uncle. There's 2 charges of assault and battery in the last month, and apparently, he's gotten into several bar fights"

"He's also got a temper"

"That's possible-" Maura glares at her, "Jane!"

Jane rolls her eyes, flicks offhandedly through a few pages. "I'm not guessing this time, so don't get your stethoscope in a twist. I went to talk to the guy this afternoon… and let's just say he wasn't the most pleasant guy to converse with. He spit on my shoes, Maura"

Maura gasps with wide eyed disgust, hand rising to hover over her chest in utter offense, "That's terrible"

"It was. Took everything I had not to kick him in the- you know. He can't be our killer anyway"

"Oh?"

"Rock solid alibi"

When they get back to Maura's house, it's past midnight. The stars are out, and the house is dark beside the lamp Jane flicked on as she walked through the door.

Even after months of Jane staying at her house, there is something so satisfying in seeing her strutting down her halls, even when it's more like she's stomping in annoyance.

Maura's especially happy to see Jane standing in her kitchen, softly fussing, curly hair flying out of her hair tie, hunched over the oven beside her. The apron she's wearing is only icing on the cake.

She looks adorable in that apron. Maura can't help but compare her to a goddess, in that frilly pink apron, a radiant goddess having come down to earth to mingle with the mortals: Themis, or Gaia, dressed in a tank top and holding a flat souffle in the middle of her kitchen.

"Oh my god. What is this?" Jane asks, eyes wide with horror.

"Perfection" Maura murmurs, and she isn't talking about the souffle.

She sits down at the counter, and Jane slides down on the stool beside her. Maura grabs them forks, and prepares to dig in.

When Maura gazes up at Jane, the moonlight from the window has happened to catch her dark eyes just so, and Maura can see the flecks of hazel, flecks of gold glittering, swimming in deep brown irises. Each sparkle of light is an invaluable treasure, which Maura wants to stow away in her designer purse and carry close to her heart. 

She can't, so she savors each laugh, and memorizes the curve of her smile, and hopes that is enough.

* * *

They say I love you all the time. They've been saying it for years.

Now, when Maura says it, it's with a slightly different inflection. She does love Jane in the same way she always has, but it's also more than that.

When Jane says I love you, she means she cares. (It's huge, consumes all and everything, but it's platonic).

When Maura says, I love you, she means she's _in love_ with Jane. She means she can't live without her.

"General relativity" Maura supplies, absentmindedly. She's staring at the ceiling, hands clasped together atop her abdomen. Jane lays beside her on the queen sized bed, just a hair-breadth's distance away. 

"Maura, What are you talking about?"

Maura blinks rapidly, taking several moments to register the question. She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. 

"Oh, General relativity. It was a theory first established by Einstein in 1907, stating that the nature of situations depends on the orientation of the observer. It also established that Matter was uncertain and exists in varying states of probabilities- and while the theory is widely accepted as correct now, that wasn't always the case. The claim was disputed for decades, since most preferred the more certain assumption that Matter was consistent and never changing. It's much like Heliocentrism, in that regard-"

Jane turns over to face Maura, head leaning on her hand, expression disgruntled. Her gaze is bleary, eyes squinted with the exhausted confusion of one who's been rudely awakened. She blinks, and Maura can see the way the gears in her head crash and grind, just by the look on her face. 

"Okay, Maur.... _What_ are you getting at?"

"I've just realized how accurately General Relativity applies to our friendship" 

Jane hums, "Okay, that's great and all, but why do we have to talk about it at-" Jane sneaks a quick glance at the clock, "2:43 am?"

"I couldn't sleep"

"No more tea after 10 for you" Jane says, half grousing and half laughing. Then she turns back over, throwing her pillow over her face.

That's just the thing, of course. "Sorry. Go back to sleep, please"

When Maura says, "I love you," Jane hardly blinks an eye.

"I know," She says, and her smile is bright as a spotlight.

Maura knows she doesn't. She doesn't know, or she'd realize that the casual touches are so teasing they're almost cruel. She'd realize that when Maura said Ian was 'the love of her life' that she was speaking in the past tense. 

Jane doesn't understand the entire extent of what Maura feels, as she watches her walk out of her townhouse's front door, and Maura doesn't have the heart to correct her.

"Okay" Maura replies, breathily, before she let's her go.

* * *

Jealous. Maura is jealous.

No one was going to take her Jane away. The thought disturbs her to no end. Except, that's not what this is, is it? She shouldn't feel that way, shouldn't feel like her world is crumbling around her when Jane tells her of the proposal.

She does, anyway. She feels like Casey is encroaching, stepping over boundaries he has no right to cross. Which is ridiculous, because Casey was Jane's boyfriend. It wasn't unreasonable for him to propose. After nearly a year, it might even be a bit belated; a milestone they should have already crossed by now.

Under the current circumstances, Maura can't help but think that she wished _she_ were the one, proposing. She wishes, wishes, wishes, and it's so ridiculous, she knows this for a fact, but she can't seem to force out a reasonable thought. She's just so incensed, so frustrated, and hot, hot tears are streaming down her face, clinging to her chin.

She can't push off the impression that Casey is trying to take Jane from her. She knows that isn't the case, of course. Maura has never liked Casey, and she's certain he's picked up on that, has noticed the side eyes when he visits Jane at the station, the harsh glares when he asks Jane over to talk, and they bend their heads together and converse in hushed whispers, but Maura knows he would never purposefully try to hurt her. ( _Taking_ Jane is perhaps the most hurtful thing he could do).

She shouldn't be so upset. So _frightened._

If they got married, Maura would not lose Jane, not completely. Jane would never leave Maura. They'd still be friends, but they wouldn't have nearly as much time together. Jane would probably be more hesitant to slot their arms together, or press casually close to whisper theories in her ear. Suddenly falling asleep with her cheek on Jane's shoulder would be too forward, inappropriate even. Maura would feel guilty, every time she gazed at Jane, and Jane laughed at their little inside jokes, and she felt that fluttering jump of her heart in her chest.

She doesn't want that.

She _wants_ Jane. She wants her so _badly,_ it aches. It aches in impossible, unscientific ways, makes her cardiac muscles tender like they could burst at any moment, makes her knees weak like jelly.

It's infuriating, but Maura would have it no other way, and that's genuinely terrifying…. Almost as terrifying as Casey.

The couch cushion beside Maura dips with the newfound weight of another presence, and Maura refuses to look over, but she already knows who it is: Jane. No one else had a key to her house, beside Angela, and the older woman surely would have announced her presence by now, with a slammed front door and amiable chatter.

Jane had always been more understanding, in that way.

Maura continues to stare at the floorboards. They're pine. Her eyes follow the swirls of the grain, anything to distract from the woman beside her, the conversation surely to follow. Their thighs are touching, and Maura can't stop thinking about how warm Jane is, at every point of contact.

"Are you okay?" Jane asks, finally. 

She sounds conflicted, confused. Maura can imagine the wrinkles between her eyebrows, those deep furrows that always formed whenever a particularly confounding mystery was presented to her. Instead of a case, Maura was that mystery. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"I am physically fine" Maura replies, as a deflection, because she isn't sure what else she could get away with. The truth, the full extent of it, would surely be far too much.

"You burst into tears, Maura! In what world is that anything close to fine?" Exasperation leaks, thick with frustration. Maura hunches a little smaller, turning further away from Jane. Facing her is not an option.

"75% of women cry at least once a month, with 33% of women crying at least once a week… It's really not that uncommon-"

"What the hell happened?" Jane cuts over her, clearly totally unswayed.

Jane's hand moves to Maura's shoulder. The gesture is hesitant, as if she's worried Maura will crumble beneath her fingertips, like the fragile little glass thing she's determined she is. Maura's breath hitches in surprise, and she must hold back another sob.

"I _wanted_ to be happy for you" Maura sighs, bedraggled and agitated, "I know that's what you needed, from me, and I'm sorry I couldn't give you that"

"Why?" Jane asks.

"I'm not entirely sure" She has theories. So many theories, but none are ready to be disclosed. None are as polished as she would like. None are as certain as she would like (as is the nature of theoretics). 

She certainly can't say, _It's because I love you, and I want you, and I can't stand the thought of you with anyone but me._ That would sound ridiculous.

She swallows down the lump in her throat. "I- recently read a study about attachments between various, platonic friend groups. Participants who spent particularly long periods of time together, felt threatened, by the mere suggestion that that time might be shortened or curtailed-"

Jane's hand tightens, subconsciously, around it's current resting place on Maura's waist. She exhales sharply out of her nose. 

"This is your roundabout way of admitting that you… feel threatened by Casey wanting to marry me?"

Maura swallows. "Yes, in a sense".

"That's messed up, Maura" Jane says, and she sounds so perplexed, and annoyed, but -and Maura would swear to this- she can also hear a tinge of amusement. Fondness, even.

Her heart stutters between her ribs. She pushes down that sudden sense of satisfaction, that often rushes through her after she's made Jane smile. Dopamine. Incorrectly crossed reward centers. Conditioned response. She should feel apologetic, not elated.

"I know. I know that" 

"What did you think was gonna happen?" She asks, dubiously, and Maura manages to translate. 

_What were you so afraid of?_

"You'd be Mrs. Casey Jones" Maura draws her knees to her chest, leans into Jane's side without any particular subtlety, and feels some of her anxieties lessened when Jane doesn't move to put more distance between them. 

She absently traces her fingers over Jane's exposed forearm, and let's loose a simpering laugh edged with something akin to self-pity. "You'd move to Arizona, just because he was stationed there, and you'd have a house in the middle of the suburbs with a white picket fence-"

"Ew, gross. No" Jane scowls, makes an exaggerated noise of disgust, "Never. The suburbs? Really?"

That gets another laugh out of Maura. It's stuttery, just the tiniest bit pained. She turns to watch Jane, expression fond, a little amused, because she can see it. 

"You'd go anywhere if he asked you to" She says, with a rueful shake of her head, self-assured in that way she always is when quoting _fact._

"You love him"

Jane considers that a long moment. She hmms and hums, as if there's really any question. Maura knows better (she knows not to get her hopes up).

"Yeah, I do, but not that much"

"Well, if I were to leave, would… would you follow _me?"_

Jane stares at Maura like she's just grown a third head.

"I don't know Maura. Maybe. Yeah" She throws her head against the back of the couch. "I mean, you aren't actually going to leave, right?"

Never. She'd never. "Only if you don't promise to give me a spot in your wedding-"

"Oh, great. You've got jokes now, huh?"

"-Preferably near the altar, the closer the better" 

"Hilarious. You want the first slice of cake too, dontcha?"

Maura shakes her head, stifles a laugh, and leans against Jane's shoulder.

"In all seriousness, now: if and when you decide to get married, I will support you. I- that's what friends do"

Maura takes Jane's hands in hers, intertwining their fingers and giving a faint squeeze, to reaffirm her statement. _I'm here, whenever you need me,_ she tries to say, with the upturn of her lips, and the warm affection in her teary eyes.

She seems to be successful, because Jane doesn't pull away. She smiles in turn, instead.

"Thank you"

 _I love you so much,_ and yet, Jane seems none the wiser. _How can you not see it,_ Maura wonders. _How can you not see it in my eyes?_

It's selfish of her, to be so preoccupied with her own desires. To color every interaction with this _want._ Maura doesn't always get what she wants. She can't always have what she wants.

Sometimes, one must settle for what they can have. There is evidence that suggests that forbidden pleasures are significantly more appealing, simply because they are unattainable. Maura concludes two things with this information: that she should make herself content with what is attainable, and that her infatuation with Jane may eventually pass, because it is temporary by nature (born of close contact and appealing what ifs).

Just being able to have Jane with her at all should be enough. It has to be enough.

Being by Jane's side is enough.

* * *

On more than one occasion, Maura found herself asking what the point of all this is. What benefit could possibly be garnered? Why put so much stock in something so fleeting?

Love is fleeting. 

So many men have walked on, and off, of the stage that is her life (Maura is not fond of that metaphor, would like something less abstract, more concrete). Even the few she'd been certain she'd loved, loved more than time and space and eternity, had left her. Ian came and left, and discarded Maura's bloodied heart in her aching hands.

Only Jane stayed. Jane always remained, with a strong shoulder to cry on and bandages to dress her wounds.

"Maura?" A pause. Maura fails to respond, "Maur?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your thinking," 

It's not really a question. Jane knows her well enough to know when she’s lost in her thoughts. She can surely tell by the way Maura is staring at the wall, gaze almost piercing a hole in the eggshell white paint, eyes glazed with distraction. The movie still plays in the background, but Maura couldn't say what had transpired in the last ten minutes. She doesn't care to know.

The predicament she's puzzling out is considerably more urgent.

Jane studies her out of the corner of her eye. When she brushes her hand over her shoulder, and Maura jerks at the contact, that’s confirmation enough.

"You're overthinking, aren't you?"

“By your standards, yes”

In Maura's experience, love is usually fleeting.

She deliberately uses the word, _usually,_ because what Maura feels for Jane is anything but. That's part of the problem. If this had been any other textbook story of attraction, the sentiment would have diminished by now. It would have drifted away the same way it had come, sudden and crashing like the harbor waves. Because attraction is fleeting, so soon subverted by the next, shiny bauble.

Except nothing else shines as brightly as Jane. Some part of Maura wants to say that even the stars pale in comparison, which is an idiosyncrasy in and of itself, because nothing is as burning hot as the sun (there's no way Jane could be hotter, or burn brighter than a celestial body whose surface simmers at temperatures toward 9900 °F, and yet, as she recalls her passionate, fiery spirit, and her vivacious loyalty, she finds herself totally willing to disregard that discrepancy, because the comparison only seems fitting).

It fits so well.

Jane is the Sun, and Maura is the Earth, perpetually orbiting. Or perhaps Jane is Neptune, and Maura is Neso, because she can never get quite close enough? Or maybe, to compare Maura to a Blackhole is imperative, because no matter how much closer they become, she is never quite content?

It's never quite enough.

"Maura, are you okay? You're staring really hard... And you've got that look…"

Maura tears her gaze from Jane's face. She'd been certain her glancing was covert, subtle, but clearly not.

"That look? What _look_?" Maura exclaims.

"You know, that, 'you're confusing me' look"

"Well, this movie makes no sense!"

Maura can read looks too, and Jane's face is absolutely saying, 'you know that's not what I was talking about'. She knows Maura isn't that dense.

She lets it slide, though.

* * *

"You just haven't found the right man yet" Angela says, and she sounds so certain.

Jane huffs, "I thought that same thing after the fifth first date. Thanks for the support, Ma, but it isn't that simple"

"Why not?"

Maura walks through the kitchen at that moment, still wearing her sunflower yellow, silk blouse, black purse hanging from her shoulder. She drifts toward the sink, but pauses when she sees the way both Rizzoli women are sitting together at the counter, staring wide eyed at her, quiet like they'd been sharing trade secrets.

"Am I interrupting something?" Maura asks. Her lip quirks upward in a rueful grin.

Jane lets out a sigh of relief, almost fleeing to Maura's side. Angela notices, the way Jane gravitates toward Maura. 

She distracts herself with a bowl of fruit, once she's a sufficient distance away from her mother, plucking a firm apple from the pile. "Nothing important. Just Ma nagging me as usual"

"I don't nag, Jane-"

"Yes, you do, Ma. All the time"

Maura covers her laugh with a hand, "Oh? And what exactly is your mother nagging you about?"

"This time she wants all the sordid details about my love life"

"There isn't much to uncover there, I'm afraid," Maura informs the elder Rizzoli, a smug grin playing across her lips, "As I recall, Jane hasn't had a proper date in…. hmmm, more than a month"

"Keep laughing, Maura. Not like you've done better" 

Maura bites back the response bubbling on her tongue, that, _My spot in your bed strongly says otherwise._

"No, I haven't" She replies instead, and it isn't untrue.

* * *

"What makes the ideal proposal?"

"What?"

"I'm just curious as to what you think constitutes an effective proposal"

"I got that! Are you talking about marriage, Maura? Who the heck are you trying to marry?"

"No on-" Maura swallows, "I'm not. It's just curiosity, as I said before. Girl talk. This is something girl-friends talk about, isn't it? Their picturesque fantasies of their perfect wedding?"

"I guess. It's just not something we've ever talked about" Jane glances down at Maura with concern in her eyes, like she might be coming down with something, some awful, unidentified -itis. "This is really sudden"

Maura must fight down a laugh, because Jane doesn't know the half of it.

"Surely you have one"

"What?"

"Surely you have a dream wedding"

"Nope. Not really. When I was seven- you know, when I was supposed to be brainstorming that garbage, because apparently _every_ seven year old girl dreams about getting married- I was busy bashing people on the field hockey rink instead"

"I bet you were very ferocious: a lioness in spirit"

"Shut the hell up" Jane hides the smile stretching across her lips by burying her face into Maura's shoulder. Maura shivers, ever so faintly, when Jane starts to speak against her skin, "But yeah, I was"

It takes Maura several, long moments to properly collect her thoughts, 

"I thought about weddings a lot, when I was younger. Less about the event itself, less about dresses and venues, and more about having someone, and not being so alone. Getting married meant I'd have a person who'd remain by my side, and wouldn't get sick of me, and that concept was absolutely tantalizing"

"Wow, Maura… you were a lonely kid, weren't you?"

"I was" Maura states, matter of factly, "Very lonely"

"I'm sorry"

"It's okay. I did get what I wanted"

She pauses, turning to smile at Jane, "I've got someone who'll stick by me, no matter what"

Jane's answering smirk is small, but genuine. "Yes, you do"

* * *

Love is gravity. That is an incorrect statement, because love is not, in fact, gravity. Both utilize the term attraction in their definitions, but the similarities, those that aren't far reaches, stop there.

Love is truly a _sickness,_ and Maura has caught it, hook, line and sinker. She's got it bad. So bad.

Jane pauses, mouth hanging partially open, because she's pretty sure she just heard Maura flirting over a dead body. Then it occurs to her that she's heard this sort of thing from Maura before, just more subtle. A laugh tumbles from her lips as it all clicks into place.

"Are you flirting with me?"

That depends. Maura's shoulder hike up, but she takes a quick, steadying breath and straightens her posture. When she turns from checking their dead body's pulse (just to be certain), her gaze only has a hint of imploringness, "Do you want it to be flirting?"

"I wouldn't mind if it was"

"Then, yes, I am indeed flirting" She pauses, "Was it good?"

"Fine for a first time"

"I resent that. I, Ms. Jane Rizzoli, have been flirting with you from the beginning"

Jane cocks her head, expression one of amused disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes. Without realizing it, I think"

"Accidental flirting. That's the best kind" She glances down at the body, almost flippantly, "Any idea what the cause of death might be? I'm thinking stab wound, with a side of homicide"

"I will kick you, Jane"

"Not with those killer heels, you won't. I'm just totally appalled, Doctor. I thought you were a pacifist?"

Jane squats beside her, inspecting the body, probably moments from popping out with another sarcastic quip. Maura smiles, soft and warm, and content. 

This was, possibly, one of the few things that didn't need to be defined.

It was love.

It was them.


End file.
